Doesn't Last Forever
by SunWillRise2340
Summary: At his sister's wedding, he meets a girl who will change his life and teach him an important lesson. Life doesn't last forever...but love does... Enjolras/OC - Rated T to be safe.
1. Part 1: Meeting

**Okay, I've decided to take down Kaleidoscope, and put this one up instead. It's my first third-person story since an assignment a couple of years ago, so I'm a little rusty on that, and it was originally meant to be a one-shot, but I decided that it got too long (and it's still in progress) so I'm dividing it up into some chapters instead. **

**This story is kind of about why Enjolras doesn't like women, or beauty, and I know it's detailed in the book, kind of, but I was thinking , what if? So this is my take on it. I have changed people, added people, and yeah, I hope you like it, because I'm enjoying writing it. Just by the way, Enjolras is canon appearance. Just putting it out there.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Les Miserables in any shape, version or form, I am just messing around with the life of my favourite character!**

* * *

**Doesn't Last Forever**

**Part 1 - Meeting**

"Come on, Laure, we're going to be late," her little sister tugs at Laure's tatty green skirt, making big pleading eyes up at the older girl, who's quickly brushing her hair with her fingers.

"We'll be there in plenty of time, Annette," Laure soothes, tying the knot of the ribbon that her mother bought especially for the wedding. "The dancing doesn't start for another half-hour at least."

"But it takes fifteen minutes to walk to the square, and I want to see Leon before it starts!" Annette pouts, her little face crinkling up.

"Aren't you too little to be interested in boys?" Laure teases, taking the key-on-a-string from the worn table, and slinging it around her neck. Her bare feet slap against the dirt floor as she finds her sister's white Sunday ribbon, and ties up the dark waves that float almost to her waist in a neat plait.

"I am not interested in him!" Annette protests. "We are best friends!"

"I know, I know," Laure smiles. "I was just teasing."

"Can we go now, then?" Annette pushes, running to wait beside the door, her arms folded across her chest. "Maman and the boys will be there already!"

"Yes, yes," Laure sighs, tucking the key into the neck of her dress. "Let's go."

* * *

Alexandre Enjolras stands just to the side of his newly-wed sister, and her pompous husband, his arms hanging loosely by his sides, and an expression of cool disinterest plastered across his face. He has never had time for weddings, and to be perfectly honest, he doesn't even like his sister very much. At least, not since she came back from finishing school. She reminds him too much of the bourgeoisie of Paris, who would walk past a starving child in need because they didn't want to get their dress dirty, the ones whose only topics of conversation seem to be fashion and gossip.

Her new husband, Etienne, he likes even less, since the man keeps trying to convince Enjolras that he needs to find himself a girl – apparently when Etienne was fifteen, he had had at least two or three girls. Apparently it's unnatural not to, according to the pompous jerk. But Alexandre couldn't care less what his new brother-in-law has to say – all he wants to do is get back to the library, and finish the book he was reading, and never set eyes on his sister's new family again.

A breathy voice near his ear makes him start. "Wasn't the wedding lovely? I would kill to have a dress like that on my wedding day." Unfortunately, he recognises the voice all too well – it's been plaguing him for the last week, following him around wherever he goes. "Did you enjoy it, Alexandre?"

Without turning around to see the owner of the voice, he says, his tone very even, "Yes I did, Rosalie."

Before the wretched girl can say anything more, however, she is summoned by her mother – who is calling to her to stay with the bride and make sure she has everything she needs. Alexandre lets out a breath of relief, relaxing slightly now that she's gone. Hopefully, she'll stay gone. Hopefully.

* * *

"Isn't it pretty?" a voice shouts above the music. Laure turns to see her oldest friend, Veronique, has appeared, flopping down next to her on the hay bale. Veronique's cheeks are bright red with exertion, and she's grinning happily.

"It's lovely," Laure replies, smiling at her friend. And it's true – this is the most decorated she's seen the square. Brightly coloured bunting-flags are hung around the leafy green trees, and a fire crackles at the other end of the square, where they're roasting a huge hog. It'll be enough to keep everyone's bellies full tonight.

The band are on a small wooden platform, sitting on chairs and laughing as they play their instruments, and the bride and groom are happily seated in an arbour that was put their for their purpose, surrounded by their closest family. As they obviously don't want to mix with the peasants.

"Laure, have you danced yet?" Veronique asks as the music pauses, leaning forward to adjust the hem of her dress – a lovely bright blue colour that brings out her eyes.

"No," Laure says, pushing a red-brown curl behind one ear. "You know I can't dance, Veronique."

"You can dance!" Veronique protests. "Look…" she scans the square, taking in the groups of giggling bourgeoisie girls in their finest lace and silk dresses, contrasting greatly with the tatty wool and homespun of the locals. "See that boy over there?" she nods to a boy, about our age, sitting alone.

"Ye-es," Laure says cautiously, wondering what on earth her friend is thinking.

"He looks bored and lonely…" Veronique pauses for effect. "And he's very handsome. Why don't you go ask him to dance?"

"I can't!" Laure inhales sharply, realising who he is. "Veronique, he's the brother of the bride!"

Veronique raises one shoulder indifferently. "So? You can still dance with him. Little Louis has stolen a dance from that five-year-old bourgeoisie girl. So if your brother can do it, why can't you?"

Laure sighs, deliberating. _What's the worst that can happen? _She muses. _He'll say no. But if he does say yes…_ "Fine, I'll do it," she stands up, wiping her sweaty palms on her dress, and, taking a deep breath, starts to walk over towards the boy, her heart hammering in her chest.

* * *

"Excuse me, m'sieur?" a girl's voice jolts Enjolras out of his reverie. He immediately tenses up, before realising that the girl standing in front of him is as far from a bourgeoisie as one could get.

"Yes?" he says, taking in her faint blush and embarrassed expression with indifference.

"I…I was wondering if you'd like to dance?" she asks, nibbling on her lips which already look dry and chapped.

Enjolras looks around, and, seeing Rosalie leave the arbour where his sister is sitting, and fix her gaze on him, he stands up, suddenly thankful to this girl for providing him with an excuse to avoid Rosalie. "Of course, Mademoiselle," he says. A bright smile lights her face, making her ordinary-looking features seem prettier somehow – also revealing two dimples in her cheeks. She seems far more confident now that he's agreed to dance with her.

"Come on, then!" she holds out her work-roughened hand. He tentatively takes it, and lets her lead him out into the centre of the square, where a circle of partners are already forming up for the next dance.

Suddenly curious as to the identity of his partner, Enjolras asks, "What's your name, Mademoiselle?"

She smiles again, "Laure Bonnet – you don't have to call me Mademoiselle if you don't want to, M'siuer."

He allows himself a small smile. "Well, if I'm not calling you Mademoiselle, then you mustn't call me Monsieur."

"What should I call you, then?" a small dent forms between her eyebrows. "I mean, I know your surname – Enjolras – but that still seems a little formal."

"My Christian name is Alexandre," Enjolras says to her, taking her other calloused hand as the dance is announced and the music starts to play.

* * *

They sit down together on a hay bale, both laughing and out of breath. "That was so much fun!" Laure enthuses.

"It was," he agrees, getting his laughter under control. Then he smiles at her, "Thank you very much for dragging me out to dance."

She blushes again. "It was no problem, Alexandre." She doesn't mention the fact that it was Veronique's idea in the first place.

"I also need to thank you for rescuing me from my new sister-in-law," he continues, glancing over Laure's shoulder to check that Rosalie isn't in earshot. She's not, but even so, he lowers his voice. "She's been following me around like a puppy all week – I haven't been able to get rid of her without petitioning my sister to take her somewhere."

Laure laughs again, before confiding, "She sounds like my little sister, Annette, 'cept I love Annette, 'cause we're the only two girls in our family."

"Are your whole family here?" he wants to know, turning to face her on the hay bale. It feels strange to him to be conversing with a girl, as he's never been one for talking to the opposite gender before. Yet Laure makes it strangely easy.

"Yes," she answers, brushing her madly curly hair out of her face. Anticipating his next question, she says with a smile, "There are six of us, if you don't count my oldest brother Alain, and his wife, Elodie – they've got two little ones themselves."

"Big family," his mouth quirks up in a half smile. She thinks that he's going to ask her their names and things like that, but to her surprise he doesn't, instead asking, "Is it difficult, living with so many people, and yet only having one wage-earner?"

Her mouth falls open in shock – no-one has ever asked her anything like that before. Because, she guesses, everyone she knows is as poor as her family is, if not poorer. "Laure?" he prompts. She blushes, this time out of shame, as she knows he will pity her if he hears her answer.

"Yes, it is," she says, suddenly shy, looking down into her lap. "Maman earns as much as she can with working on Monsieur Durand's factory in the next town, and I look after my siblings and do the housework," she pauses. "Maman's hours are long, and she doesn't get much money for it."

His blue eyes have lit up slightly, she notices. "You see…" he pauses. "I'm trying to research the conditions the poor are living in – because I want change for you all."

"You do?" Laure has never been so surprised in her life. She always thinks of the bourgeoisie as being stuck-up and pompous, always ignoring those below them. But Alexandre Enjolras breaks the mould, it seems, breaks it in many different ways.

"Yes," he leans in closer, so no-one except for Laure can hear what he's saying. "I can't talk about it much here, otherwise my father will beat me, but I've been reading some books by a man called Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and I think he has the right idea for the future. He talks about a Republic, a place where the people have the power, they vote for their leader and no man has the right to be put above another man."

She shakes her head, "I don't see how that would work. It's an amazing idea, though." She sighs. "No man has the right to put above another man. I would love to learn more about this…Jean-Jacques Rousseau…" she waits. To be perfectly honest, she does want to spend more time with Enjolras, learning and discussing the ideas of this man. It would be her idea of heaven to learn more about how the world should be.

Enjolras is pleased by her reaction – not many people have the patience to listen to his ideas – not to mention the fact that it is illegal to talk about overthrowing the king. "We could find somewhere to talk about it, maybe?" he suggests. "It would be good – because you're the first person who's actually genuinely interested in what I have to say."

She smiles. "It's a deal."


	2. Part 2: Falling

**This part is a bit shorter - there may be three or four parts, I haven't decided yet. DISCLAIMER: I don't own Les Mis, if I did I'd be a much cooler person.**

* * *

**Part 2 - Falling**

They start to meet up, once a week, at the same time, in a field near the village, sitting together and talking – about anything and everything. He brings books for her, teaches her how to read and write; he will never forget the look on her face when she managed to write her name for the first time. She pesters him with questions about The Republic, picking apart his ideas to allow him to improve them, and, when they're not occupied with political or educational topics, she teaches him all the old folk songs that her father taught her before he died or they dance around the field together, laughing and having fun.

Winter starts to set in, and after one meeting where they have to huddle up together for warmth, Laure says, "How about you come to meet my family next time – as I don't fancy sitting out here in the cold." She can see he's slightly hesitant, so she tempts him by saying, "You'll get to see first-hand how we poor people live."

"Alright, then," he smiles at her, noting the way she blushes and looks down. She tells him how to find her address, and with a brief hug, they part ways.

* * *

The next week, Laure is up early, sweeping the floor, and making sure the house is completely tidy. "We're having a visitor, Maman," she says, stirring the porridge as her mother bustles around, getting herself ready for work. "I've told you about my friend, Alexandre Enjolras?"

Her mother frowns, but says nothing, heading out of the door. Laure, feeling nervous, supervises her siblings' baths in the rickety old tub with water boiled over the fire, threatening to send Louis out into the cold to wash when he complains about the temperature of the water. Then she potters around, tweaking the curtains, and the tatty table-cloth. She knows that Alexandre won't be judgemental about the way her family lives, but she still worries.

At eleven o'clock on the dot, there's a knock at the door; Laure is alone in the house as the children have gone out to play. She rushes to the door, overcome by excitement, and her nerves, and throws it wide, revealing her friend stood in the doorway. "Bonjour!" she smiles at him as he steps into the warmish, slightly smoky room. She's pleased to see that he's wearing what are obviously his oldest clothes, so he doesn't stand out as much as he might have.

"Bonjour," he returns the greeting, looking around curiously as he passes her the basket he's been holding. "I begged food and supplies off the cook for you," he smiles. "Said I was giving alms, but she's not to know it's for you."

Laure is extremely touched by this – he's brought food for her before when they met in the field, but this basket seems to contain shawls and things as well – things that all the family will make use of. "Thank you very, very much," she says, the gratitude showing in her voice as she places the basket on the table. "This is very kind of you."

He sighs. "Laure, it's nothing. My family have far more possessions and food than we need – it's only fair to give some of them to people who actually do need them."

"I guess," Laure says. She takes his wrist and tugs him further into the main room. "Sit down, sit down. It's freezing outside, and we've built up the fire, so it should be warm enough. I've still got some chores to do…"

"Is there anything I can do?" Enjolras immediately asks.

"If you'd like to help me wash my siblings' Sunday clothes, then that would be greatly appreciated," she smiles shyly.

"You'll have to show me what to do," he says, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves as Laure drags the bathtub into the centre of the room.

"We use this for bathing and laundry," she explains. She shows him how they boil water over the fire, and then add it into the tub, using a small amount of soap, and then scrubbing away at the clothes as hard as possible. After she's explained, they begin to work in companionable silence, sitting next to each other and cleaning the clothes. Laure is very aware of how their arms keep brushing as they pick up different items of clothes – and she is disconcerted, as whenever their arms brush, a shiver runs up her spine.

* * *

As December merges into January, Enjolras comes to the little house more and more often, helping out with the household chores and, with Laure, teaching the younger children their basic letters and numbers. For him, it's a chance to get away from his parents, who seem to be pressuring him to spend more time with his brother-in-law, or to go hunting, or find himself a girl. For Laure, on the other hand, the days when he visits are always more fun – she finds herself missing him more and more acutely on the days that he doesn't come.

Their little routine never changes, though. They always do the work first – wash, cook, sweep, clean, then they teach Louis, Annette, Daniel and Gerard more from whatever learner's book Enjolras brings with him, then after that, they sit on the floor together, his arm around her shoulder and her head resting against his shoulder, and they read a political book or discuss whatever latest law the monarchy has put in place. And slowly, ever so slowly, they start to fall for each other.

He starts to notice things about her that he never noticed before – the fact that her hair is more red than brown, and her eyes change colour from green to brown in different lights. She starts to realise that his hands are becoming calloused, from the work that they do when he comes to visit. His parents remain blithely oblivious to the fact that their son is walking around the village, hand-in-hand with a poor working girl, and her mother starts to accept the fact that her daughter is falling for this young, rich, gentleman.

* * *

With February comes Enjolras' sixteenth birthday – as the weather is warmer, he and Laure escape to the field that they met in during the summer. "Happy Birthday," she tells him sincerely, as they lean against the gate posts. She hands him a wrapped package.

"You didn't have to get me anything!" he protests as she shoves the present into his hands. She pulls a face at him.

"You're my friend. 'Course I have to get something," she says, keeping her tone and expression nonchalant. But inside, her heart is pounding – she really, really hopes that he likes it, as she spent ages trying to decide between this and something else. He keeps looking at the package, so she elbows him playfully. "Go on. Open it," she says, keeping her fingers crossed behind her back. He bites his lip as he starts to carefully open the present – for a second, she wonders what his lips would feel like against hers. _No, Laure, _she sternly forces her thoughts back into check.

In the meantime, he's rid the present of the coarse brown paper, and is holding up, a smile lighting up his handsome features. "A cooking book!" he grins, opening the front cover. "This will certainly come in useful when I go to university."

She smiles wanly as he puts an arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick hug. "Thank you, Laure," he says, tucking the book under one arm. "I really like it."

"You may have to hide it from your parents," she warns, a slightly teasing note in her tone.

"Oh, I'll think of some way to explain how I acquired it," he says. "They don't pay much attention to me anymore, not with my sister expecting." He doesn't sound annoyed that his parents are ignoring him. Laure thinks this is slightly strange, but doesn't comment, as she knows the tenuous relationship between father and son.

"I'd probably better get going," she says, reluctantly. "Maman wanted me to get some flour from the mill today as her hours have been extended."

He bites the inside of his cheek, suddenly nervous. _What is wrong with you, Alexandre? _He asks himself as Laure smiles at up at him. He puts an arm around her, intending to give her a hug to say goodbye and thank you, but before he can stop himself, he's leaned down, and hesitantly pressed his lips to hers. His heart pounds, and relief floods over him as she puts her arms around his neck and kisses him back. They break apart, staring at each other. Enjolras is suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry," he mutters, breaking their eye contact, and looking down at the floor.

"Don't be," Laure's voice is cheerful, happy. He darts a glance at her to see that she's smiling widely. She loops her arm through his. "I've wanted to do that for ages, but I worried that you'd think I was too forward," she admits, the smile never leaving her face.

"I wouldn't," he says, starting to smile himself. "Laure, we've been discussing equal rights between women and men, and you're worrying that I'd think you were too forward? That shows a serious lack of faith." She catches the teasing note in his voice, and laughs.

"I guess," she starts to skip a little bit. "I can put off going to the mill."


	3. Part 3: Leaving

**Okay, I'm really sorry, this is pretty long. I was considering splitting it, but all the things that are in Part 3 belong in Part 3, so sorry, guys. DISCLAIMER: I am not Victor Hugo, therefore I do not own Les Miserables. I am just messing around in my favourite character's life.**

* * *

**Part 3: Leaving**

**One Year Later**

"How're you feeling?" she asks, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"Annoyed," he says, biting his lip as he always does when he's under stress. "I don't even like Etienne, and my sister will be running around after the baby, so…" he trails off, his fingers moving over her cheek. "I'm just going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," she confides, putting her arms around his neck, and resting her head on his chest. He sighs, and puts his arms around her – in an instant, the annoyed feeling has disappeared. That's the effect Laure has on him. "But you'll only be away three months, then we have until you go to university. But by that time, Daniel will be fifteen, and perfectly capable of looking after the others…" she stops rambling, and takes a deep breath. Contrary to her optimistic reassurances, she will miss him, badly. Because he's the one thing that lights up her life.

Since their first kiss on his sixteenth birthday, their relationship has been going from strength to strength – at least, until his parents finally caught up with the times, and realised what was happening. And now, they're sending him away, in the hope that the two will forget about each other, and find other people to fall in love with. The night they told Enjolras that, he marched out of the house, and slept at Laure's for two days. But now, they're threatening to come and take him anyway, so, after a long conversation, he and Laure decided it would be for the best.

"Will Rosalie be there?" she asks, her voice a hum against his chest.

"Probably," he replies. His tone sounds gloomy again. "I just hope she's matured."

"She will have," Laure replies confidently, going up on her tip-toes to plant a kiss on his lips. Then, changing the subject, she complains, "You've grown so much, you're like a bloody great giraffe!"

"Lovely compliment such an understanding, wonderful girl," he teases, lifting her up so she can perch on the gate post. "Better?"

She grabs his face and kisses him. "Much better," she giggles. Then she stops, and tilts her head to the side. "Listen to the birds singing – aren't they pretty?"

He listens for a couple of seconds, "Yes, they are."

"And the flowers are blooming, and the crops are growing and the sun is shining," she continues on, her eyes sparkling. "It's such a lovely day today."

"Agreed," he leans back against the gate, brushing his arm against hers. "It's a lovely day."

* * *

Enjolras takes in the intimidating façade of the townhouse, and, setting his face in an indifferent mask, he picks up his bag and walks up the stone stairs. Knocks on the door. It opens to reveal a middle-aged man dressed in livery with his head held high – the butler. "Bonjour, monsieur," the butler says in a snobbish tone, looking Enjolras up and down. "How may I help you?"

Enjolras wonders if he can make a break for it, but realises his parents will just send him right back. And he doesn't want to appear, or feel childish, when he is most certainly not a child. "I'm here to stay with my sister," he says firmly, staring the butler down. The butler takes another look at him, critically taking in his slightly worn overcoat (worn from spending time at Laure's house) and the shoes that his father's valet polished that morning.

"And your sister is?" the butler presses, narrowing his eyes at the young man.

"Madame Clemence de Vere," Enjolras answers, remembering his sister's married name from the church ceremony a year and a half ago.

Just then, a door opens and closes upstairs and a beautiful woman with the same blonde hair and blue eyes as Enjolras comes running gracefully down the stairs, the skirts of her rich, light blue dress trailing behind her on the carpeted floor. "Alexandre!" she calls enthusiastically. "You've arrived! Laurent, thank you for letting my brother in," she comes to a stop in front of her brother, and smiles at him. "You've grown so much – I hardly recognised you. Laurent, will you take my brother's bag – put him in the green room. Come this way, Alexandre, I'm sure you're very tired from your journey, but I'd love you to meet your little nephew – I'm sure you'll love him. Come on!"

Enjolras sighs, and relinquishes his bag and coat to the aloof butler, and follows his sister up the stairs. He does love his sister, like a brother should, but he can't like or respect her anymore – since all she seems to be interested in is children, fashion and what her friends have to say about other people. At least that's what her letters all contain. "His name is François, and he's starting to grow blonde hair, like you and me, but his eyes are brown, like Etienne's. I wonder if he'll have inherited the Enjolras trait of being stubborn, like you and Father," Clemence rambles on about her baby as she leads her brother up endless flights of stairs. Enjolras effectively tunes out his sister's monologue, taking in the rich wallpaper, cream paint and deep, soft carpet. He feels uncomfortable here – as he's been staying in a cottage with a dirt floor, three rooms and an open fireplace for the past two days, he feels like he can't get used to luxury again.

They finally reach the top of the endless stairs, and Clemence leads him along a hallway carpeted with the same material as the stairs, before slowly opening a door. "Sshh," she whispers, tiptoeing into the room, and holding the door open for her brother to do the same. "He might be asleep."

She walks softly over to a rich cot, hung with gold material, leaving her brother standing by the door. She scoops a sleeping bundle out of the covers, and carries it back towards the door. "Alexandre, meet your nephew. François, this is your uncle." She looks towards Enjolras. "Do you want to hold him?"

"Not really," Enjolras looks into his little nephew's sleeping face, wondering for an instant what Laure's baby might look like. Laure's and his. The thought brings a small smile to his face. "I don't know anything about babies," he tells his sister. "I wouldn't want to make him cry."

"Alright," she smiles tenderly at her son. "I'll put him back, then, and we can go and sit downstairs, and you can tell me about how Maman and Papa are getting on." She puts the sleeping infant back in his cradle, and carefully closes the door behind her.

The two siblings walk back down the stairs, and Clemence shows her brother into a beautifully furnished drawing room, complete with paintings of Etienne's ancestors. "This house has been in Etienne's family since it was built," Clemence tells her brother, fiddling with her wedding and engagement rings.

"Interesting," Enjolras says, his tone anything but interested. Clemence laughs lightly.

"I see that architecture is not in your interests. How's the plans to change the world going?" this question takes Enjolras by surprise. He never realised that his sister paid any attention to his efforts to help the poor. But the realisation that she did makes him smile.

"Still in the reading and planning process, I'm afraid," he says, watching his sister's smile grow wider as she reads the expression on his face.

"Been distracted by something else?" she raises a perfectly curved eyebrow.

"Not really," he shrugs.

"Oh come on, Alexandre. I know you think I'm silly and vain, but I'm still your sister, and I can still read you like a book," she smiles kindly at him as he blushes.

"I didn't know my thoughts were so transparent," he admits, embarrassed now.

"Not to everyone else," Clemence reassures him. "But we're brother and sister, and I've known you since you were born. I'd be an awful sister if I didn't know what my brother was thinking. Now, stop trying to change the subject, and tell me what's happened."

He shrugs again, thinking that his sister might be the sympathetic ear that his parents weren't. "I met a girl," he admits, cautiously.

Clemence's eyebrows shoot up in shock. "You…and a girl? Congratulations, little brother!"

"But," Enjolras is not entirely surprised by his sister's first reaction. But with the next piece of news… "She's a working class girl, not one of the pretty bourgeoisie Mother and Father envisioned me to fall for."

"And they're being prejudiced and biased," Clemence finishes his thought train, shocking Enjolras slightly. "I'd imagine that they would be that, though. And that's why they've sent you here – to forget about her."

"Yes," he studies his sister for a second. "But there's no way I'm forgetting her."

"Of course you're not," Clemence leans forward. "Why would you? I'm actually perfectly surprised at them – this is the first girl you've ever shown any interest in, and I have no idea why they have to be so against her because she's poor."

"Because, as you said, they're being prejudiced and biased. They haven't even met her," a sudden surge of anger courses through him, and it takes a lot of effort to keep it under control.

"Well, then, if they won't listen, tell me about her," Clemence suggests, leaning back against the backrest of the divan again. "Go on, I'd love to know."

The tips of his ears turn red again, and a small smile quirks up the corner of his mouth. "Her name's Laure Bonnet. She's got red-brown curly hair, and green-brown eyes and she's small. She's sixteen, but only because her birthday's in August. She's also a supporter of Jean Jacque Rousseau, and she's confident and lovely. I met her the day of your wedding."

"She sounds a perfect match for you," Clemence smiles delightedly. "I'm so happy for you, Alexandre."

"Thank you, Clemence," he says, smiling back at his sister, glad that they've re-established communications.

* * *

"Laure, are you sure you're alright?" Laure's mother, Madeleine, asks, sitting down next to her daughter at the worn, wooden table. Laure coughs again.

"I'm quite alright, Maman," she reassures her worried mother. "Just a cold I must have picked up from one of Annette or Louis' friends."

"Are you sure, cherie? I'm not at work today – you could go to bed for a while?" Madeleine presses.

"Maman, I'm fine," Laure coughs. "I have to go to the mill today, again."

"I can get Daniel to go," Madeleine suggests, but Laure shakes her head, standing up, and pulling her shawl tightly around her slim shoulders.

"Maman, Daniel is with his girl – we don't want to interrupt them," she says firmly. "It's warm outside, and if I go now, I'll be back in time for something to eat."

"If you're sure," her mother gives in with a sigh. "But be careful – cross at the bridge, not the ford."

"Maman, there's nothing wrong with me!" Laure protests, coughing yet again. "I'll see you later."

"See you later, ma cherie."

* * *

"Alexandre, how are you?" Rosalie comes running into the library, her straight, dark hair pinned neatly into a simple style. Her dress seems to be of the latest fashion – Enjolras has seen them on many women when Etienne and Clemence took him out into the city. He looks up from his book.

"I'm alright, thank you, Rosalie," he replies politely. "You?"

"Ah, I would have hoped you would have been better than alright for seeing me!" she says coyly, settling herself down in the chair next to him. He restrains himself from rolling his eyes.

"I'm just missing a couple of friends from home," he lies, knowing for certain that Rosalie will take the same stance as his parents on the matter of Laure. After all, Rosalie and Etienne are from an even higher class than his family – the landowning gentry, and they are even more prejudiced than the bourgeoisie.

"Oh, that's too sad," Rosalie pouts slightly. "Well, you'll see them in a couple of months, won't you?"

"Yes," he keeps his voice monotone.

"But then you'll be back in Paris for university – it would be lovely if you could come and call on us. We could go for a stroll in the LuxembourgGardens – they are very pretty in the autumn, and the shows at the theatre are very entertaining. Would you like to take me out to see a show with you in the autumn?" Rosalie bats her eyelashes.

He just makes a noncommittal noise, turning the page of his book. It's one that he and Laure had discussed after seeing it in a bookshop – he's currently making notes on it for her. He hopes she'll be pleased.

Disappointed with his lack of response, Rosalie gathers up her skirts and stands up. "Well, if you're busy, I'll go and see my nephew. I'll probably see you at dinner tonight – I'll ask Clemence if we can sit together." With that Rosalie exits the library, leaving Enjolras, thankfully, alone. He sighs, and turns another page. _When will the wretched girl understand the meaning of the word 'no'? _he ponders, writing another interesting fact in his notebook.

* * *

"What would you like to eat?" Madeleine asks her daughter, trying to tempt her into eating something. The 'cold' has got worse, and now Laure is refusing to eat. Not hungry, apparently. But now, Madeleine has started to worry. If only they could afford a doctor. But they can't – at least, not until Laure's young gentleman comes back, but Laure says he'll be away at least another month. And by that time…no, she won't think about it.

"Nothing, Maman, I'm really not hungry," Laure protests from her mother's rocking chair by the fireplace. "No, I mean it. I'm not. Give the food to Louis or Annette. They're always hungry."

"Laure, my darling, you haven't eaten all day. Please, just eat something," Madeleine pleads. "Even if you're not hungry, you need to eat."

Laure gives her a wan smile, then, trying to reassure her mother, she says, "Alright, then. Could I have some of that broth that you made last night?"

"Thank you," Madeleine lets out a breath of relief, turning towards the fireplace, and ladling some of the leftover broth into a bowl. Laure sighs and rests her head against the back of the chair, coughing weakly. She still hasn't got rid of this awful cold, and it's really starting to annoy her now. _But it'll be gone in another week or so, _she tells herself optimistically. _And then Alexandre will be coming back, and everything will be as it was before._

* * *

Enjolras stands in front of a shop window, his sister and her friend, Stephanie, are conversing a few feet away. He looks at the jewellery in the display, wondering which one Laure would like the most. He's already got her a book, but he wants to get her something more lasting. A gift like she's never had before. "Clemence!" he calls to his sister, who stops chatting, and wanders over, her friend next to her.

"Yes, Alexandre?" she asks, looking into the window. "Oh, these are pretty. Are you thinking of getting something for your sweetheart?"

"Yes," he says slowly. "Only I don't know what she'd like."

"We can help," Clemence says. "Shall we go in?"

"Alright," Enjolras takes off his hat, and ducks to enter the doorway of the little jewellers, Stephanie and Clemence following him. The owner of the shop, hearing the bell tinkle, comes rushing out of his little workroom at the back, bowing slightly when he sees the quality of his customers.

"Bonjour, Madames, et Monsieur," he says politely, if slightly obsequiously. "May I help you?"

Making a quick decision, Enjolras says, "Could we please have a look at your selection of silver rings?" Clemence raises her eyebrow at his words, and he hears Stephanie giggle behind her gloved hand, but neither raise any protests as the man pulls out a drawer and lays it in front of Enjolras. He seems inclined to hover as Enjolras looks at them, but thankfully, Stephanie says, "I am also looking for a confirmation necklace for my younger sister – could you help me, Monsieur?"

This question causes the man to go scurrying off in search of confirmation necklaces, leaving Enjolras to browse in peace. Finally, he settles on a ring, and beckons the shop-owner over. "Would it be possible to put this ring on a silver chain?" he asks, thinking that it might be easier for Laure if she could wear it around her neck instead of on her finger.

"Of course, monsieur," the man bows again, before retrieving another tray, this one with many chains in different colours on it. Enjolras picks out a chain, and pays, before the three of them leave the shop. Enjolras gets out his money purse and, as they make their way back to the house, he distributes money to the beggars that they encounter, all the while thinking of Laure.

* * *

She shivers, and rolls over in the big bed. Her chest hurts slightly and she's still coughing. "Laure, are you alright?" Annette is sitting up next to her, her long dark hair plaited for the night.

"I'm fine," Laure whispers back, her voice hoarse. "Go back to sleep, Annette. I'm fine." The younger girl lies back down again, pulling the coarse blanket over her head to block out the sounds of her sister's coughing. Neither of them sleep that night.


	4. Part 4: Dying

**This last part is shorter. And I hope you like it. I'm super proud of this story, as I've written it all in one day, and it's a rare time when I get a plot bunny and actually finish it. So, I hope you like this. Reviews are appreciated.**

**DISCLAIMER: I am not awesome enough to invent crazy amazing people like Enjolras, Jean Valjean, Javert, Fantine, Marius, Eponine and Cosette. Therefore I am not Victor Hugo, and I do not own Les Miserables (as much as I would like to).**

* * *

**Part 4: Dying**

He stands in front of the door, the parcels clutched in his hands and a huge smile plastered across his face. His heart is hammering frantically in his chest. In just a few minutes, he's going to see her. Only a few minutes.

He got back into the village only half-an-hour ago, ran through the house, depositing his bags and quickly changing into his old clothes, and then out of the back door and across the village, to her house. He knocks at the door as loudly as he can, and, hearing the murmur of voices behind the closed door, begins to smile even wider.

The door opens, and the smile slides off his face, worry and fear replacing the happiness in an instant…all because of the expression on Laure's mother's face. At the sight of him, standing there in the doorway, she bursts into tears. "M'sieur, thank god you've come! Thank god! Come in, come in."

"What happened, Mere Bonnet?" he asks, a fist clenching around his heart. He's gazing around the front room, looking for Laure. But she's nowhere to be seen.

"Through there," Madeleine points to a rickety wooden door in the back of the room. "She's in there," she sniffs. "Don't mind me, go and see your girl."

Enjolras quickly crosses the floor, and opens the door, slipping into the small room that holds a bed and nothing else. He stops in shock. Laure is lying in the bed, under a coarse blanket, shivering and shaking. Her fever-bright hazel eyes are too big in her face, her cheeks are sunken and her skin is sallow. As he watches in horror, she coughs weakly, holding a dirty handkerchief up to her mouth. From this close, he can see that her phlegm is speckled with blood. "Laure," he whispers, moving quickly to sit by her side.

"Alexandre," she says faintly. Her eyes shine. "You came back."

"Did you think I wouldn't?" he carefully puts his arms around her, hating how fragile she seems to be.

"No," she whispers. "But I worried."

He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, trying to hold back the tears that seem intent on forming in his eyes. "I brought you presents, from Paris," he changes the subject, placing the packages on the bed. She smiles feebly.

"You didn't have to," she says.

"But I did," he pushes the book-shaped one towards her. "This one first."

He ends up having to open them for her, as she can barely move her hands. But the illness doesn't prevent her face from lighting up in a beautiful smile as he shows her the book that he picked out for her. "I've wanted to read that since we saw it in that bookshop," she murmurs. "Will you read it to me tomorrow?"

"Of course, cherie," he says. Neither of them mention the fact that she might not be here tomorrow. "Look, and here's your second present," he opens the box for her, and places it in her hands.

"A ring," she breathes, staring at it with those wide, bright eyes. She darts a glance up at him, and a faint pink colour tinges her cheeks. Her meaning can't have been clearer.

"Yes," he whispers, pulling her closer to him. "I want you to marry me. When you've got over your illness, and I've finished university, I would be honoured if you would marry me."

"Of course I would," her tone sounds more alive at the thought. "Yes, Alexandre Enjolras, I will marry you."

"Thank you," he carefully ties the clasp of the ring-necklace around her neck, as she examines it closely.

"I've never owned anything so pretty," she says softly. He smiles at her, placing a tender kiss on her lips.

"I hoped you'd like it," he smiles, but, then, feeling her shiver in his embrace, he pulls his coat off his back, and drapes it around her shoulders, putting his arms back around her skinny frame.

"It smells like you," she says whimsically, resting her head on his shoulder. Then, "I'm so tired, Alexandre."

"Go to sleep, cherie," he whispers, tightening his embrace ever so slightly. "Go to sleep, I'll be here when you wake. I love you."

* * *

Enjolras stays at her side, and refuses to leave, even when his family's butler appears at the door wielding a note from his father. The man is shown into the bedroom, where Enjolras is sitting, reading to an exhausted and coughing Laure.

"Tell my father that I am not leaving her until she's on the mend," Enjolras retorts. Laure rests her head on his shoulder, looking at the butler with sleepy eyes.

"Please, m'sieur," she whispers. "Let him stay."

Later on, the butler would remark to his master and mistress about the pain in his young master's eyes.

The days slowly move by – Laure getting weaker and weaker, and more tired with every passing hour. Still Enjolras does not leave her – it hurts so badly to see her like this, but it would hurt more to be in the unknown. To not know what is happening to the girl he loves.

On the fourth day, after her mother has been in with the doctor that Enjolras paid for, Laure stirs briefly. "How're you feeling, cherie?" he asks quietly, kissing her cheek. She just manages a ghost of a smile, before laying her head on his chest again.

"It won't be long now," her voice is a mere breath of wind, sounding so tired and frail that his heart breaks even more with every word she utters. "I…I just want you to know…that…even…even…after I'm gone…don't be sad…" she takes in a deep breath. "Find…find some beautiful girl who'll love you like I do…and marry her…" she manages a small smile. "Name one of the children after me…" she coughs harshly, bringing up more blood. "Follow your dreams…remember always…long live the republic…" she swallows hard, looking up at him to see that there are tears rolling down his pale cheeks. "Remember…I…love…you…" she gets the words out with extreme difficulty, breathing heavily with the effort. "Sleep…now…" her head rests against his shoulder and she falls asleep again.

An hour later, Laure Elisabeth Bonnet, the love of Alexandre Enjolras' life, dies in her sleep.

* * *

**June 6****th****, 1832**

Enjolras looks around at the soldiers from the National Guard. He flings away the remains of his gun, folds his arms across his chest, feeling the small shape of Laure's ring below his shirt. "Shoot me," he says, in a steady voice.

The soldiers hesitate – but a sharp bark from their sergeant has them forming a line at the opposite end of the tavern. They line up their muskets; he takes a deep breath. _Maybe I'll see Laure _he thinks, standing tall and straight as their fingers find the triggers of their guns. He can almost feel her little hand on his shoulder, and as he closes his eyes, he can see her smile behind his lids. That thought causes him to smile himself, unafraid, and he's still smiling as the first of the eight bullets pierces his body.


End file.
